Chapter 35: The Private Jet
The jet’s hum was a low, possessive vibration in the bones. Outside, the world had dissolved into a featureless navy blue, the last scarlet scar of sunset smeared on the horizon. They had left the ground, the chase, the certainties behind. Now there was only the cocoon of the cabin, the leather seats deep and shadowed, and the silence between them that was thick with everything unsaid.
Michael stared out the window, but saw nothing. His body still hummed with the aftershocks of the bathroom, with the frantic, silent ride to the airstrip, with the surreal, clinical efficiency of their boarding. A man in a dark jacket had simply nodded, taken the bags, and led them up the stairs into this silent, opulent tube.No questions.No papers. Nathan’s money, or his connections, had made a hole in the world just for them.
Nathan was across the aisle, elbows on his knees, head down.He’d been still for ten minutes. Michael could see the tight line of his shoulders, the compulsive tap of his thumb against his kneecap. The OCD was a live wire under his skin, sparked by the chaos, the unclean rupture of their escape.
“You good?” Michael’s voice was a scratch in the quiet.Nathan didn’t look up. “They saw us leave.The sedan. They got a shot of the SUV.”
“I know.”
“They’ll trace the tail number.This jet. It’ll take time, but they will.”
“You said remote. You said no footprint.”
“I said harder to find.” Nathan finally lifted his head.His eyes were dark pools in the low cabin light.“Not impossible. Nothing’s fucking impossible for them.”
The fear, cold and slithering, began to uncoil in Michael’s gut again. He’d been foolish to think it could be shed like a coat.It was in his marrow.He looked away, back at the meaningless dark.
Then he heard the click of a seatbelt.Leather sighed. Nathan’s shadow fell over him, blocking the dim reading light.He didn’t speak. He just reached down, his fingers finding the buckle of Michael’s belt, releasing it with a sharp snick.
“Nathan…”
“Stand up.”
The command brooked no argument.Michael rose, his legs unsteady. As soon as he was vertical, Nathan’s hands were on him, turning him roughly to face the window, pressing his palms flat against the cool, curved plastic.The world outside was a void.
“They want a show?” Nathan’s voice was a hot, furious whisper in his ear. One hand snaked around his waist, undoing his button, dragging the zipper down. The sound was obscenely loud. “Let’s give them a fucking show they’ll never see.”
Michael’s sweatpants and underwear were yanked down to his knees in one brutal tug. The conditioned air kissed his exposed skin. He was vulnerable, held there, his reflection a pale ghost against the black infinity.He heard Nathan spit, a wet, deliberate sound. Then fingers, slick and cold, pressed against him.Not teasing.Not preparing.Claiming. One pushed in, rough, and Michael gasped, his forehead thudding against the window.
“You’re still open,” Nathan muttered, working the finger in and out.“Still loose from my come. That’s how you’ll always be for me now.Open. Ready.”
A second finger joined, stretching, burning.Michael whimpered, the pleasure-pain a bright wire inside him. Nathan scissored them, his other arm a bar across Michael’s chest, pinning him.
“Gonna fuck you at thirty thousand feet,” Nathan breathed, his teeth grazing Michael’s ear. “While they’re down there scrambling in the dirt.While they’re looking at their blurry pictures. I’ll be buried in your ass.”
He removed his fingers. The sound of his own belt buckle, the shuffle of denim, was all Michael could hear apart from the engine’s drone. Then the hot, solid pressure of Nathan’s cock, blunt and insistent, pressed against him.
Nathan didn’t ease in.He shoved.
The cry was torn from Michael’s throat, muffled against the window.The stretch was breathtaking, a fullness that bordered on rupture. Nathan bottomed out in one relentless drive, his hips flush against Michael’s thighs, his body a cage.
For a second, neither moved.Nathan was sheathed to the root, breathing harshly. Michael was impaled, stretched raw, his vision speckling. Then Nathan drew back and slammed home again.The pace was brutal from the start.No warm-up.No gentle rhythm. This was a punishment, a consecration, a obliteration of thought. Each thrust drove Michael harder against the window, the cool plastic vibrating against his cheek. Nathan’s grip on his hip was bruising, his other hand fisted in the back of his sweater.
“This is mine,” Nathan grunted, pistonting into him.“This tight, hot fucking hole is mine.They don’t get this. They’ll never get a piece of this.”
“Nathan… God…” Michael choked out. The friction was lighting fires along his nerves, the deep, punishing angles striking something inside him that made his knees buckle.
“Say it.” Nathan’s hand left his hip, wrapped around his throat, not squeezing, just holding.A threat.A possession. “Tell me whose you are.”
“Yours!” The word was a sob, lost in the engine hum.
“Damn right.”
Nathan’s thrusts became shorter, harder, more focused. He was chasing his own peak, a frantic, angry race. The hand on Michael’s throat slid down his chest, under the sweater, pinching a nipple viciously.The sharp pain blossomed into heat, pooling in Michael’s groin. He was hard, his cock trapped between his stomach and the cold window, leaking freely.
“Come for me,” Nathan demanded, his rhythm breaking, becoming ragged.“Come all over this fucking window. Mark it. Show me you feel it.”
The filth of the command, the sheer animal truth of it, pushed Michael over the edge. His orgasm erupted without a hand on him, ripped from him by the sheer force of Nathan’s fucking. He cried out, a broken, ragged sound, as his release spurted onto the pristine plexiglass, streaking it white.
The clenching violence of Michael’s climax drove Nathan over. He gave three final, shattering thrusts, buried himself deep, and froze. A long, guttural groan shuddered through him as he pumped his own release hot into Michael’s depths.
They collapsed together against the window, a heap of trembling limbs and spent breath.Nathan’s weight was heavy, comforting. The jet sailed on, steady as a heartbeat.Slowly, Nathan pulled out. He righted their clothes with a clumsy, gentle tenderness that was a stark contrast to the fury of minutes before. He guided Michael, boneless and pliant, back to the wide leather seat, buckling him in before sinking into his own.
For a long time, they just sat, listening to the white noise of their escape.
Nathan reached over, not looking, and found Michael’s hand.His fingers were sticky. They laced together anyway.“The cabin,” Nathan said, his voice hoarse. “It’s got a generator.A wood stove.A creek out back.No road for five miles. Just trees and quiet.”
Michael turned his head.Nathan was staring straight ahead, his profile etched in shadow.
“Quiet sounds good,” Michael whispered.Nathan nodded, once. His thumb stroked over Michael’s knuckle. “It will be.”
Below them, somewhere in the vast, indifferent dark, a continent unspooled.Ahead, the mountains waited, cold and silent. For now, in this thin metal shell between heavens, there was only the hum, the shared warmth of their joined hands, and the slowly settling certainty that they were, for better or worse, gone.